


Scare me, baby

by Tentabot



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Haunted Houses, Horror, M/M, Mild Gore, Psychological Horror, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6942460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tentabot/pseuds/Tentabot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all fake. Ray has to remember that. But this isn't a shitty carnival horror house. In a way, it's almost better. Almost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> **  
> **  
> __  
> TW: kidnapping, blood, gore, horror, psychological horror, humiliation  
>   
>   
> 
> If you're sensitive to taking on the feelings of the PoV character, I don't suggest you read this. 
> 
> Based on a [promo clip of McKamey Manor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vl6CGlBVpCA). (Previous triggers also applicable to video link)
> 
> I didn't like the lack of aftercare show during their interview sessions. I thought that I could provide a better service. Instead I wrote a better service. Also ventfic.

**1**

 

 _I need this,_ he tries to convince himself.

 

 _It’s all fake and I need to just relax,_ he continues to pump himself up.

 

He can’t relax.

 

Not in the slightest.

 

Even if he expected it, being taken without warning is still surprising before it plays off into being terrifying. Ray’s scream is caught behind a cloth and behind his glasses he can make out the excited shine in the other guests’ eyes.

 

Adrenaline junkies, the lot of them. He doesn’t consider himself one though. He’s just there on a dare with two other friends - God knows where they are, by the way - and if anything he wanted to go home.

 

He wasn’t panicking yet but as soon as his head was bagged he could feel the swell of anxiety build up as bile in the back of his throat when they’re chucked into some vehicle. Van, maybe? Pickup? Something obviously suspicious?

 

 _Breathe, kid, breathe_.

 

He doesn’t like not being able to see. He doesn’t like not being able to feel. He still latches onto the hope that he can make it out without the mental scarring. A dare isn’t worth his sanity.

 

He can hear a car door slide open - _must be a big car,_ his brain focuses on the miniscule - and one by one they’re plucked out and chucked into separate cells. Ray can only tell because the yelps get blocked out and doors locked up. Some really lay on the desperation thick but under it all is the mutual feeling present within them all.

 

Just what the fuck is going to happen?

 

“Welcome to the Hunter’s Hovel, lads, ladies, and the unbothered,” a smooth voice says. It booms, echoes in each tiny chamber, and having the bag over his head still doesn’t help things.

 

“It pleases me to see your smiling faces tonight. I hope you’re in for a wild ride. My compatriots are feeling restless - we haven’t had guests at our humble abode for near a week - but with you here things should be a blast.”

 

The monologuing goes on and Ray doesn’t know whether it bores him or calms him from his high. He expects being terrified well enough soon. But in that moment he listens carefully and let’s the voice lull him into a false sense of security.  He doesn’t pay close attention, only just hearing the soft echo of painful promises.

 

“-right then, let’s have some fun.”

 

Ray blinks back into alertness, his heart is in his throat, when someone grabs his arms he’s ready to cry. They’re rough. Twist at his wrists as they force him up to his feet to walk somewhere.

 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Ray mutters under his breath, shoulders hunched up as he stumbles over stairs downward. He starts to lose his breath under the sack and he jolts as a reflexive action, hitting his handler square it what feels like the crotch.

 

He practically leaps out of his captors arms, their reach to grab him again only going so far. They do manage to grab his hair under the sack but he moves with force, their grasp breaking free roughly. It lifts the sack over his eyes just a bit, makes his glasses pinch his ducts hard enough to earn a few tears. And when he turns his head, the one eye able to see properly spots a frown. Calm disappointment. And for him, seeing that simplicity rather than a monstrous grin from a sadist really makes his skin crawl.

 

He bolts down the stairs, trips and falls the last flight of the way, but his heart is thumping so he doesn’t care for the bruises. He tries to rush the front door, thinking his weight will open it. But it doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. He doesn’t get to win.

 

He turns around and leans on it, catches up with himself. And he looks at everything properly.

 

Where they are is...grand. Warm. The lobby has wooden floors, waxed to a glow, the entry rug is red and brown and fuzzy, and the walls are decorated with what looks like local art from children and adults.

 

It’s so normal.

 

It makes his stomach churn.

 

He can hear the footsteps from upstairs coming down and he tries to look for an exit. He remembers the rules. If you make it out you win. Easy enough. But not really.

 

He spots the closet and thinks that temporarily it’ll have to do. His back to the doorknob, he turns and opens the closet and hides in it, ducking low amongst the jackets he can feel. He calms. It’s hot but that’s okay. He leans back until he’s sitting on his ass, then shuffles his legs to move to the backmost part of the closet.

 

It’s odd how his back doesn’t hit against a wall. Odder still when it gets colder, the floor getting harder, and also...damp. His heart races again and dares to look behind him, urges himself to take a look.

 

He tries not to scream but he throws up. Dead animals hang from the ceiling of a cement-walled room. There’s buckets of blood beside a table in the middle where a body is covered by a blood-splattered white sheet. His senses piqued, he can smell the foul scent of rotting flesh over mothballs and it makes him release his gut even more.

 

He’s still puking when the jackets behind him rustle. The closet door is open, he can tell because of the faint warm light filtering through, and he forces himself up to run again. He slips over the puddle of puke he made but still gets back up.

 

Like something out of a video game he played once before, he moves passed the bloody bodies, pigs, humans, sheep. It’s disgusting and he’s crying fully now. Sobs wrack his ribs and he wants to stop grinning in disbelief because a grin is still a smile and he most certainly doesn’t feel like smiling right now.

 

His shoelaces get caught in a grate and his eyes widen in surprise. He swears aloud this time, not caring because now he’s caught. Now he’s fucked.

 

“I know where you are, sir. Best stay put. We need to clean you up now,” a voice calls to him. He shudders, wants to piss himself because he’s cold and scared.

 

“There’s a mess in the hall he has to clean up first,” another voice growls. Ray really wants to piss himself now. There’s two. Of course there is but, there are two of them. Right now. Right here. With _him_. He wants to get out. One is enough.

 

He forces himself to stand and runs straight ahead, noisy and stumbling.

 

“Get him!”

 

He keeps running straight ahead until he hits a wall and turns. Then he runs straight that way too. He closes his eyes when he spot something fleshy in front of him. He doesn’t know about the fleshiness being arms. Arms that reached for him. Slimy, real, and trying to slow him down. Zombie-like moans and high-pitched screams sounded from each side of the halls’ walls and he could taste the bile and sweat and metal of either his own blood or the arm walls.

 

He swallows what wants to come up back down.

 

He rushes the hall, pushes through the hands that want to grab him, and makes it to the door. He slams it closed behind him, quickly tries to find something to wedge between the handle, and then makes his escape after pushing two small cabinets in front of the door.

 

He doesn’t run after that. The panic music in his head slows as the danger passes. He starts to walk slowly, carefully. He twists his wrists out of his bindings and feels them snap when he pulls. They aren’t too strong, he notes. A sick mental game: have the victim be resigned to their fate and not feel like escape is possible when they could definitely get out. He’d give kudos where they were due if he didn’t feel so on edge.

 

Sneaking around and planning his next move through his nerves, everything feels so _real_. And at the back of his head he convinces himself that it could be. That, through all the logic that says his theory is untrue, everything is all a ploy to actually torture and kill people.

 

It’s what drives him to take a long candle stand with him when he passes it, holding it against him like a guard. He creeps through the halls and pokes his head through a room with the door ajar.

 

The room is dark and Ray can’t hear anything except the faint rapid breathing of someone who’s panicking as hard as he is. He wants to enter, find out if they’re okay. He can see the silhouette of someone in a chair, shaking and no one else seems to be there.

 

He’s mulling it over when thumping footsteps come from down the hall behind him and the noise snaps him out of his reverie to make the decision to jump into the room.

 

Ray shuts the door behind him, grabs the person roughly without a thought, and tells them to be quiet with a sharp shushing sound. The person gasps, holds their breath, and stays as still as either of them can be.

 

As whoever was out there walks passed, Ray’s eyes adjust to the dark as best they can. The person he grabbed still has their head bagged and he whispers a quick sorry before pulling it off.

 

He still can’t see the person but he can get a rough feel for who they are. They’re a bit top heavy, they have longer hair around shoulder length, and seem to be wearing a button up something that Ray can’t really place because he’s not focusing much on fashion. More on if they could help or not.

 

“It’s alright,” they murmur back.

 

Ray doesn’t have the time to process the voice because his head is back in a bag and his mouth covers whatever cry of surprise he was going to make.

 

He isn’t knocked unconscious but he is moved, deposited into what he thinks is a large and cushioned chair. Maybe a couch.

 

He can’t breathe in the bag and he his legs thrash as he feels them being bound by tape.

 

“Feisty,” his captor mutters. Ray can imagine a deep frown on a disfigured face: stubble in patches, a crooked nose and a crooked grin. The roughness of his captor’s hands can be felt when he grabs his own to wrap duct tape there too.

 

“I hope you’re comfortable now; I did go to a lot of effort to make sure there was no room for any...discomfort,” Ray hears the other say. “No one knows you’re here save for my companions so that’ll leave you and I all alone. No one to help you out of the little hole you’ve dug yourself, is there?”

 

Ray’s breath hitches and his blood runs cold with fear. It’s something to finally process, alone and in faux-comfort: he has no one. His friends are off getting their rocks off to some torturous activity and he’s stuck panicking in a room with a man who sounds too smooth to be non-perverse.

 

He shouldn’t presume, he knows, but with his anxiety gurgling in his stomach he can’t help but think so. Only freaks and perverts would ever accept a job torturing people, he thinks. Only freaks and perverts get a joy out of being inches away from someone, whispering their insecurities to them.

 

“As per the agreement of this playhouse, we do have a lot on you, if I do have the correct guest here,” they say. “May I ask your name, little one?”

 

Ray is silent, tries not to shake so hard when ‘little one’ comes out of the other man’s mouth because it’s so belittling. It’s disgusting to hear. But somewhere deep in his gut it’s the most calming thing to hear out of everything said. It proves he has no power to stop things. It proves that he can’t escape. It frightens him. But it makes something burn and warm up his insides.

 

“I asked you a question,” the voice growls, low and hostile, and Ray’s shoulders bunch up to his ears.

 

“I-”

 

“ **_What is your name?!_ ** ” the voice roared, right into Ray’s face. Ray’s eyes scrunch up and sweat and tears bead up at the corners to fall together down his face.

 

“I-It’s Ray! M-m-my name is Ray, holy fuck--!” Ray stutters, unable to breathe and unable to speak. He was only yelled at but for him it feels as if he was punched in the stomach.

 

It sickens him, how much it affects him. How small his voice sounded and how weak he feels. It makes him sob under the bag and he grows addicted to it in the time that passes. He grows addicted to his fear, his unhappiness, all the things that make the tears fall even faster.

 

“Ah yes, _Ray_.”

 

 _Don’t say my name like that,_ Ray thinks desperately.

 

“You applied with two others. When interviewed, you weren’t as enthusiastic about the entire ordeal…”

 

There’s a pause, as if Ray is supposed to fill it with his own quip or comment, but how could he when he’s struggling to even breathe, choking on tears.

 

“When asked about your fears in the interview, you answered that you had none, save for your favorite stores being closed. Millennial trivialities. First World Problems. But we both know what it really is, don’t we? Or at the very least, I do and you should have a rough idea.”

 

Ray can’t help but laugh under his breath. He remembers it. His answer. He didn’t take the Hovel seriously. He thought it would be like those shitty carnival rides with jumpscares. But he can feel the other digging into his brain. He can feel his breath, his rough hands on his shoulders. It makes him shake out of the grip, away from the man.

 

“Tell me what scares you.”

 

“Your face,” Ray forces out through the wobbling of his lower lip. He bites down on it, scared at what may come next.

 

The man laughs and it sounds half genuine and half sardonic.

 

His grip on Ray tightens, enough to bruise, and tighter still to the point it stings and it makes Ray yelp.

 

“Try again.”

 

Ray tries to count, tries to breathe, tries to do anything to stop himself from shaking with hard sobs again. He’s so tired of crying, fatigue both emotional and physical pull at his eyes to force them closed but every nerve in his body is on high alert. His ears ring and he just wants to go home.

 

“Just let me go, please, I never wanted to be here,” Ray mumbles through a runny nose. Mucus drips from it down his lips to his chin and it tastes salty and he wishes he can’t taste it. It makes him aware of how dry his throat feels despite the saliva that builds up between his his inner cheeks and his teeth.

 

“I think that you actually _do_ want to be here, Ray. You’re an unaware addict, truly. Unlike all the naive people who enter, you actually like to sink into the physical depths of your mind. No longer left to thoughts in bed, you can finally feel the things you deserve. Pain, and unhappiness…”

 

“Fuck off with that shit,” Ray snaps out, a gurgle in his throat as each word punctures his guts. His heart takes a beating but his lungs feel it all. But the other continues.

 

“Loneliness too. You feel like you deserve it. Do you enjoy it being just us two? The physical manifestation of your very conscious, as well as yourself, crying in the dark. Do your friends care enough to try and find you? Maybe they care more for themselves. Maybe they’ve found a way out.”

 

“Maybe…”

 

“ **_No one is here to help you now, are they?_ ** And how does that make you feel?”

 

“Empty,” Ray whispers. He can’t feel anything except his insides churning and the wet trail his tears leave. He’s lost. “I want to go home.”

 

“To just cry some more? **_Pathetic_ **.”

 

“Stop it, please…” He says it, begs for it, but he knows he doesn’t want it to stop. He craves the affirmation of his despair. Of his fears. His insecurities. He enjoys the mind games that leave him numb in his depression. It feels right. Normal.

 

And while that shouldn’t be the case, he relishes the cold embrace of the man’s voice.

 

“I just might. I see I have done enough. Because now you know, don’t you? How utterly hopeless you are. I’ve done my job. Made you realize your fear. And now you get to experience it even further when I leave you to your own thoughts. You’ll be alone, again. In the dark, again.”

 

“Please…” Ray whispers, but he’s not sure what he’s asking for. He isn’t sure what he wants to ask for.

 

“Please, what, _Ray_?”

 

_Don’t say my name like that._

 

“‘Please’…leave? ‘Please’ let me go home? ‘Please’ what, Ray?” Ray can hear the grin in his voice, aware now that they both know.

 

There is a silence, almost completely still. An almost operatic sound bounces in his head, a monotonous ring to fill his thoughts while he struggles to answer.

 

“Well then.”

 

There’s a swell of anxiety filling his chest when Ray registers the sound of footsteps _away_ from him.

 

“ _Don’t!_ ” Ray cries out. He slumps as much as he can in his bindings, leans over the closes arm of the large chair and lets the tears fall across rather than down his face.

 

“Don’t go,” he says weakly. Defeated.

 

“Too late.”

 

There’s a grin again, Ray thinks. And then he hears the door behind him snap shut and he’s left. Alone. In the dark. Unable to breathe. Unable to think. But absolutely and completely able to cry.

 

The sobbing starts silent, then they grown in volume until he finds a comfortable decibel. It’s neither loud nor quiet. It enough for him to hear himself both outside in the room and inside his own head. He thinks of one thought and focuses on it to get it all out. To waste himself emotionally.

 

Soon enough it starts to feel good again. He starts laughing. Mutters to himself about how worthless he is. How pathetic he is. He says random depreciative comments until he’s laughing and crying about it. Until he loses his voice and tears. And then he’s murmuring. And then he’s dead silent, only rocking back and forth so that the air that rushes passed his ears clears the throbbing in his head.

 

He doesn’t know how much time passes. How long he has left. Whatever tears left on his lashes dries up in the cold air. He doesn’t bother getting up. Escaping. He just wants something warm. He wants someone there. Comforting him. The warmth scares him and makes him want to cry so he goes back to his darker thoughts. His more self-depreciative thoughts. The safer thoughts he has left.

 

 _This isn’t fun_ , is the last thought he has that isn’t directly about himself.

 

He still doesn’t know how much time had passed him by when he finds himself wrapped by something thick and heavy. It’s warm but it doesn’t make him feel any warmer. He shrugs it off, hiding his head between his shoulders.

 

“Time is up. Everything is alright. You handled everything so well. I’m sure your friends will be proud of you. It’s okay now, Ray.”

 

The soothing tone, the warmth dripping from the smooth voice, it all makes Ray want to cry again and he shakes his head violently in rejection. But they continue, cooing small praises and rubbing his arms so that the warmth he feels spreads from his core outwards to the tips of his ears and toes.

 

“Stop it,” Ray mumbles, slipping further into his emotional exhaustion. “Stop this shit, p-please.”

 

He feels so weak but he appreciates the aftercare. He loves it so much, relief flooding his veins.

 

Gently, the bag over his head is removed and his eyes are shut tight, the skin underneath puffy and his nose red under the light tan of his skin. His glasses are fogged and are eventually removed so that a warm cloth can rub at his cheeks to clean them of his tears, dragging down to his chin and neck to further rid the saliva and mucus that dripped down from his earlier cries.

 

His skin felt less itchy but he still struggled to open his eyes. The cloth is brought up to them to rub softly at the corners to ease his eyes into opening on its own. His cheeks puff up like a child and his lower lip trembles because it all feels so relaxing and helpful. Something he still feels like he doesn’t deserve.

 

“You’ve done so well, Ray. I’m sure you’re thirsty. I have some water to hydrate you, then you can have some nice, warm hot chocolate. Would you like that?”

 

Ray whines and when he feels the arms that were rubbing him warm open up to further embrace him, he leans heavily into it, still shaking and wanting to push away. He wants to push away so badly but at least there is a subconscious part of him that understands that what he needs is to be comforted back to real life again.

 

When his vision clears and he can focus on his surroundings he has to squint through the warm yellow light that fills the room. It’s coming from two lamps, each in opposite corners of the room, and it doesn’t brighten the place like the actual ceiling lights still unlit but it does help him adjust.

 

He looks around properly before he looks up at whoever holds him. His eyes are still droopy and tears threaten to fall every now and then but he’s coaxed back into a more positive neutral zone with gentle words and now soft smiles.

 

“I’m Ryan, Ray, and I hope you forgive me. I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I’m sure you’re a wonderful person and you’re doing great right now. I just need you to drink this water so we can get some more warm food and drink into your system. My workmate, Jack, made some gooey chocolate chip cookies that are still warm as well if you’d like that.”

 

Ray nods weakly, feeling his stomach rumble and his mouth salivate.

 

“Can you use your words for me?”

 

Ray shrugs.

 

“I obviously know your name, but can you tell it to me?”

 

He shrugs again.

 

“Can you please, Ray? I know you can do it.” Ryan smiles and Ray’s cheeks puff up again and he looks down at his knees. He counts the stitching to himself before he answers.

 

“Ray.”

 

“Good, that’s very good, Ray, I’m proud,” Ryan says softly. Ray feels butterflies in his stomach next to his hungry rumbles. “Can you tell me your age?”

 

“Twenty...six.”

 

“Good, good. And what’s your favorite color? Do you have one?”

 

Ray nods. “Yeah…Purple…I guess.”

 

“It’s a good color. I like purple too,” Ryan says. Carefully but still so casually, like he had done this many times before, he moves his arm so that he can run his fingers through Ray’s hair and that makes Ray melt into the man’s arms. He wants to cry all over again but this time from an almost overload of emotion. It feels so relieving and so good and he turns his face into the man’s chest to hide. His cheeks are probably still cold on the outside but Ray can feel the heat that rises and threatens to break to the surface.

 

“Can I ask if you remember my name?”

 

Ray nods.

 

“Can I ask for you to say it?”

 

“Ryan,” Ray mumbles. Ryan nods, hums approval, and Ray, on all planes of consciousness, allows himself the comforts of rubbing his face into the source of the low hum.

 

“I’m sure you’re thirsty after answering all those questions for me so can I get up for a second to get you your water?”

 

Ray actually has to think for a moment before nodding slowly. He dislikes the warmth that leaves him when Ryan walks over to a small table with food and drink on it. His hands are shaky when he obligatorily raises them to accept the glass. Ryan’s hands cup his own as Ray lifts the glass to his lips and drinks. He doesn’t realize how parched he is until he coughs from the water rushing up to his nose.

 

“Let me help.”

 

Ryan wipes Ray’s mouth with a tissue and then gets a new one to hold up to his nose.

 

“Blow,” Ryan instructs, and Ray does, letting Ryan pinch his nose before wiping up the mess.

 

Something fuzzy fills his chest and he falls deeper into another space of enjoyment far from what he had experienced previously. The thoughts of the time do hover around the back of his head but otherwise it’s part of a past he doesn’t wish to explore. Not when he’s being pampered like an apology wouldn’t do. And it won’t, but he knows he wouldn’t kick up a fuss about it regardless.

 

“You’ve deserved this. Drink up and eat as much as you want. And if you want, I can get you some more when you’re ready.”

 

“Okay,” Ray replies.

 

He’s finding his voice, a moment of kindness at a time. Ryan holds his hand and rubs circles into his palm while he uses his free hand to dip cookies into hot chocolate and devour them like he’s never going to get anything as good as this again.

 

He doesn’t know how long passes with this warm and relaxing moment but soon he can open his eyes without the fatigue trying hard to wear him down. His posture straightens and he’s not curling into himself as much, shoulders slumping into a more relaxed position. And he even feels like he can stop using Ryan as a crutch but he still doesn’t, loving the positive attention devoid of sarcasm and friendly jabs at himself and relishing every moment of it.

 

“We should get into the main hall for the debriefing session. It’s to make sure everyone has been properly taken care of. You’ll find your friends there too,” Ryan murmurs, gently nudging Ray. “It’s been a long four hours and you deserve to enjoy the outside after all of this.”

 

“Four hours?” Ray says. His voice is still too monotonous to convey any real surprise he has. His expression says it all for Ryan though who nods. Ray heaves a breath.

 

“Woah,” he says, finally.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Four hours. Holy shit.”

 

“Four and a half, if you count the introductory ‘capture’,” Ryan says with a shrug, “It will all be covered when we get into the main hall but I’ll accept any questions you want to ask.”

 

“Oh. Okay. Cool.” Ray nods. “Um, okay. So, is Ryan your real name?”

 

Ryan doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile in an amused manner, but he does nod with a polite look on his face.

 

“Yes. Though, it is at least the name I do go by every day. It’s technically my middle name. No one uses my first.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“We all use our real names. During the aftercare session it makes it feel more familiar. You don’t need to be told or face anymore lies at our hands.”

 

“Oh. Thank you?”

 

“No problem,” Ryan says with a soft smile, “A lot of those who come in and out of places like this don’t get the care they need so they’re left in a perpetual panic because of their experience. Are you okay at the moment?”

 

“I...think so? It’s all so distant now.”

 

“I don’t want you to relive it at all, honestly.” Ryan’s smile turns into a frown, small and hardly noticeable. “I’m sorry for all of that. For my comments and behavior. I didn’t mean a word of it and I hope that the care I’m providing is helping you through it at least a little.”

 

“It’s actually really nice. I appreciate it,” Ray replies.

 

 _You have no idea how much I appreciate it_ , he thinks. Because it is nice. Relieving. Warm. He can almost forget the scene.

 

“I’m glad.” Ryan smiles. “But we should get to the hall. I’m sure your friends want to see you.”

 

Ray gives a shrug but he isn’t quite as bothered as he could be by the mention of his friends. He wants to see them too.

 

“Thanks,” Ray says, “I mean it. About all the care and shit. I… I really like it.” He mentally denies that he’s blushing even though the physical evidence is clear. Ryan decides to ignore it or not mention it or doesn’t notice it at all.

  
“And I mean it: I’m glad.”


	2. Briefing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an intermission.

**1.5**

 

In the bright of the hall, Ray can properly see Ryan. His smile and the round, prickly edge of his jaw. The way his eyes crease, wrinkling at the corners when his smile pulls at his cheeks. The softness of his hair, the light of his beard, the thick of his brows that draw together in almost perpetual worry. 

 

He looks so friendly with a yellow halo of the ceiling light hitting down on him. So unlike what Ray faced before. The reality of the person is jarring but it’s the distinction between the two that helps him a little through accepting Ryan. That and the fact he is an attractive person.

 

Really, it is unfair. Ray feels equal parts attracted to Ryan and inadequate compared to him. While it might be a side effect of the scene played earlier, it makes him bite his lip down in worry. 

 

_ Shit, he’s hot _ , Ray can’t help but think, trying to avoid eye contact.  _ He’s hot and held you in his arms, comforted you and fed you.  _

 

The appeal to the man only grows and grows as they walk down the hall together, close enough to be holding hands. Close enough for Ray to want to hold hands. 

 

When they enter the hall a sweet aroma fills Ray, makes him salivate enough that he had to cover his mouth with his hand. Ryan laughed warmly and winked.

 

“Jack and Geoff’s baking does that.” 

 

That is all the explanation given as Ryan guides Ray through the blankets and cushions that littered the floor. It looked like a blanket fort party. But it conveyed enough fun and relaxation to allow Ray the chance to properly unwind in the presence of others. 

 

On his toes, he tried to look for facial familiarity or a recognizable crop of hair but instead someone called for him.

 

“Ray!”

 

He turns on his heel to see a very damp Michael who looks golden in some fluffy socks and a warm towel, and beside him is Gavin who looks rather average save for the bruises around his limbs.

 

Neither of his friends expect the large hug Ray gives them both. Ray tries not to cry and actually succeeds but only barely, his eyes glassy with tears that won’t fall if he can help it.

 

“H-How was it for you guys?” he asks after taking a deep breath. Ryan rubs his back softly and Ray casts a quick smile up at him.

 

“Disgusting.” 

 

“Fucking scary.” 

 

They both have looks of pain, but after a while the euphoria of it having ended gets them and through worried brows they both grin.

 

“We did it though, I guess?”

 

“I suppose there could be scarier places, but I prefer the care after they’ve done making us shit ourselves,” Gavin says, throwing a look over toward the kitchen before turning his attention back to his friends. Michael nods in agreement, his eyes wandering a bit.

 

“I’ll definitely look at it as something I never wanna deal with again, but…I dunno. It’s cool knowing I got through it. And reassuring when someone else congratulates you for it.” 

 

Ray can tell Michael’s not completely explaining himself but from that alone he understands.

 

“Never again though,” Ray says. 

 

“Never.”

 

After a while the hum of conversation dies when a scruffy man walks into the approximate middle of the crowd.

 

“Ladies and gents, and my gentle others. This is the end to The Hovel. I don’t hope you enjoy tonight, unless you did in which case cool, but I do hope that the care and attention provided during our aftercare afterhours has helped you get through the also provided emotional strain.

 

“We also hope that it was worth it for you and if you need more to eat or drink or talk about, we do own this joint and are open for overnight stays. You can bunk up here or even we can lead you to a room but due to the required care for our clients we do prefer group settings so you don’t fall back into a negative space.

 

“Also, if anyone wants round two, which is nuts but hey sure thing bud, we do have deals for repeat takers and friend combo packages.

 

“Aside from that, I’d like to introduce each of your hosts who have done their best in providing our truly horrific experience. You should know your personal hosts’ name, we only have small groups for the specific reason of individually creating a personal experience catered to for you. Anyway, I’m rambling so let’s get this over with.

 

“We have me, Geoff Ramsey, manager, creative director, and also part-time cook. How ya’ goin’? Also our other chef who baked the goods tonight, Jack Pattillo.”

 

A wideset man with a friendly face and thick beard came from the kitchen with more goods with a bow of his head to say hi. A few claps went around and Ray looked at Gavin who gave a small wave.

 

“Ryan was our smooth voiceover tonight and also made a bunch of the comfort-gear we have such as the scarves and sweaters floating around.”

  
Ray looks at Ryan who flushes slightly. He gives an awkward wave and despite his height the man still apparently hoped to hide behind Ray.

 

“Also introducing our newbie who did a lot of the effects tonight such as our bloody wall and cages, Lindsay Tuggey.”

 

A woman with red hair tied into a loose bun raises a hand with a smile and says a chirpy hello. She stands next to a blonde woman who is covered in what looks like ash and soot.

 

Geoff lists off more people and Ray looks around at them, registering the faces. None look like they want to be malicious. If anything, Ray is sure that some of them probably went through The Hovel too. 

 

He looks back up Ryan and thinks about that. If Ryan was scared shitless back before he started working. It’s an interesting thought.

 

“…ave a good night, help yourself to the food and drinks, if you’re staying overnight then just notify your guardian and they’ll sign you in. We have phones if you need to contact someone and whatever belongings you had before the scene is at the front. Til tomorrow, everyone.”

 

Ray blanks out for a bit, yawning behind his fist, when Michael perks up.

 

“Hey, Ryan, right?” he says.

 

“Um, yes?” Ryan replies. Ray doesn’t know how the man can be awkward right now after everything that has happened. He musn’t be able to do crowds, Ray reasons with himself, so Ray slightly nudges Ryan and takes his hand to give it a squeeze. 

 

_ Maybe the guardians need some aftercare too _ , Ray muses, though the thought sounds kind of sad on it’s own after a while and he stops internally smiling.

 

“Is it cool if us three stay? I kinda want to get my clothes dried up and Ray looks tired as fuck.”

 

Ray rolls his eyes and gives Michael a look but the other shrugs it off.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Ryan says, “Did you want to stay in here or-?”

 

“Yeah, we’re cool here.”

 

“Okay then, I’ll just get you all signed in then. Did you have any belongings you needed?”

 

“Ray has a backpack and Gavin has a camera bag.”

 

“No problem.” Ryan gives Ray’s shoulder a squeeze and mutters how he’ll be back and even if it’s passed the time to be comforted, Ray welcomes it.

 

They all pile up in a corner together, not ashamed to be grown men who cuddle. 

 

The experience, which is, in a way, exhilarating, is still a terrifying thing. They sedate each other with head pats and jokes and fall asleep in a tangle of limbs. It’s not particularly comfortable but it’s safe. Especially with the ambient sounds of cleaning and soft discussion.

  
Ray sleeps for the thought of conversations left for tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this floating about for a bit in my documents. Might as well share since this 'chapter' is complete. It's just an easy going lil thing that establishes what I was thinking could've become a romantic plot to this ventfic but [like yknow whatever.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ax25gfr5J98)
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments tho!
> 
> I am still thinking about continuing this as an actual thing. [I've been in as much a stress-free environment as I can be in for the past few months](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THAaNPIxEek) so I don't have the right sort of energy for venting to make more 'scary' chapters, but with some suggestions I could probably focus on themes to broach - with sensitivity and viewer discretion, of course. 
> 
> If you're also still interested in more of this, drop a line. If you think this is nuts, leave a flame for my cold, dead heart. 
> 
> Take care, stay safe, and have a nice day. x

**Author's Note:**

> There's more to come, maybe. If I can finish it. I hope I do.


End file.
